Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (42 page)

“Why him out of the millions in this city?” I squint trying to get a better look at the dude. Is he in his early twenties, late teens, or just looks old because of a hard life?

“That guy,” Grant says, a mix of shame and amusement threads through his voice. “He is smart and quick and strong- exactly what you need in an enforcer. I have something that he will lay his life down to protect. The other elders use threats and violence to earn the loyalty of their enforcers. But that could come back and hurt you in the end. You may wake in the night to your enforcer murdering you to protect that which you threaten. But he,” Grant points across the street, “Will be loyal to a fault to protect me and mine.”

“How do you know that?”

“His name is Roman Alexander, and right now he loathes me. Regina lived in that building, and she and Roman were good friends. Roman will be my enforcer to protect Regina and our son- of this I have no doubt,” Grant says with utter confidence. “He loves my future wife. Roman loves her more than I do,” Grant murmurs under his breath. But I hear it. I hear that Grant believes it, but he’s lying to himself. The look of anguish on Grant’s face is like nothing I’ve ever seen.

“You don’t believe you can keep Regina, do you? You do love her. You love her more than anything. I heard you and Marc talking, how you said you took Regina from him. Now you show me this Roman guy. You think they deserve her more than you do, don’t you?”

“C’mon, let’s get you inside. No sense standing out here just begging to get mugged,” Grant says while taking my elbow and escorting me to the front door.

“I guess that means you don’t wanna talk about that,” I grumble.

“You could be right,” Grant says with a sly smile. “Stanton isn’t home right now. He’s at his other place of business in the heart of the city.”

“Huh?”  I step into the shitty building, expecting to find it i
n shambles. What greets me is an office building reception area. A curved desk with a pleasant
I’ll kick in your teeth
security guard in his forties is manning the station. A small seating area with a loveseat and four chairs, a coffee table, and magazines is off to the side. Everything is brightly lit with muted décor. It’s absolutely not what I’d expected to find after seeing the front of the building.

“Mr. Whittenhower,” the guard says with a pleasant smile. “I see you brought us Miss Simpson
, lovely. Mr. Green will be here by eight a.m. with breakfast. Please show our new resident to her quarters.”

“Thanks, Frankie. I’ll be down to chat after Faith is settled in for the night.
I believe you owe me another hand,” Grant says with a flash of his dimples. He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Frankie’s a card shark, the bastard,” he trails a laugh.

“Why isn’t Stanton here? Where is my sister? You don’t have to stay here tonight. I’ll be fine.” The rambling words flow from my mouth. I bite my bottom lips to stop them. It reminds me too much of Boyd and Whitt
, which just makes me sad and lonely.

Grant happily laughs as he
walks me towards an elevator. He efficiently types in a code, making sure I see the sequence:
5 3 9 1
.

“Your sister’s birthday,” Grant mumbles. “Dumbest dang thing, if you ask me. A
nyone could figure it out. So Stanton added another one after it. Which is just as stupid,” Grant complains.

Grant types in
7 2 8 1
. “Stanton’s baby brother’s birthday.”

“I wouldn’t call almost eighteen a baby,” I say in amusement. “But yeah, who the hell wouldn’t figure that out.”

I get into the elevator when the doors open. It smells like recycled air and lavender room spray- not a pleasant combo. Grant is silent, as if he’s waiting to talk to me, but doesn’t want to do it in the elevator. The silent conversation hangs in the air, making the ride feel a billion times longer… and extremely uncomfortable. The ding of the doors makes me flinch. I have no idea what will be on the other side of the door and it’s making my heart pound in my ears and my breathing quicken.

I enter a normal looking apartment. I can tell by the view from the windows that we are on the top floor. It’s quieter up here than I expected.
Only a small bit of the street noise invades the apartment. My guess is hellacious soundproofing. The wail of sirens and car alarms are flowing from a cracked window over the sink.

I feel at home, and I can tell that I’m going to love Stanton. The living area is homey and lived in- a more expensive, larger version of Aunt Amelia’s living room. It’s not cold and staged with furniture not meant for asses. A
Lego
castle sits on the table, surrounded by
GI Joes
and
Barbies
and
Matchbox
cars. Decks of flash cards litter the floor next to an overflowing toy box. Bianca must play with everything.

“Stanton said that if he had to play, he was going to use boy toys, dammit,” Grant mimics the man I met earlier. “I lucked out by having boys. Whitt isn’t one for toys, though. He’d rather draw and hide in his room. I hope that Niel is more playful.” Grant puts a hand on the small of my back and gently pushes. “It’s been a very long day. Stanton and Bianca aren’t here, and I was told not to show you around. Stanton wants to have some alone time with you tomorrow morning
during a tour.”

“Grant,” I
murmur. “I appreciate it… I do,” I slowly murmur, getting choked up. “But you don’t have to stay tonight.” I want to be alone. I want to scream, cry, hurt, break things… and kill a bitch.

“No
, can do. I made a promise to two women tonight. Regina is taking care of your sister. They feared you’d run away, and I told them I’d make sure you were okay. Don’t make me a liar,” Grant cautions.

“Far be it from me to make
you
a liar,” I taunt. ”Maybe I need to be alone,” I pointedly say as Grant directs me into a bedroom near the end of the hall. He ignores my comment, walking me into a room larger than the one I had in West Virginia but a third of the size of the one I had back in Crestview. It’s a girl’s room- purple walls and bedding with maple furniture. A desk is set up with a laptop and printer. There is even a television on top of the dresser facing the bed. I yank off my boots, not wanting to mess up the plushy lavender carpeting.

“Pearl sent for your belongings
,” Grant walks over to the closet and shows me the few bags I’d left in my room at ShadowHaven. “Everyone needs to think you ran away, and they need to think I helped you. It was the only thing that made sense. With you staying at my home on and off and your sister being a permanent resident, it made the most sense that I be the one to shoulder the blame. All of those not in the game will think you ran off because of what happened between Fate and Cortez and the pain of losing your father. I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, but it was the best I could do.”

“I understand,” the gratitude is heavy in my voice. “I’d live any life over the one where I play rape-and-seek on a monthly basis until I’m incubating a Holden that I may or may not get to
raise. If I ever have a child, I’ll be its goddamned mother. I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way,” I fiercely vow, and then soften my voice. “But… are they going to go after your family for this, Grant? If so, no,” I shake my head, “I’ll go back- I want Regina, my brother, and Niel safe.”

Grant’s sigh echoes mournfully around my new bedroom
, ignoring me- which in Grant speak is a huge yes. Yes, the Elders are going to be ruthless to the Whittenhowers for my disappearance.

“Over here is yo
ur bath,” Grant opens a door that has a jack-and-jill style bathroom. The bath isn’t girly at all. A shower/tub combo in black marble veined in white- the sink vanity in the same material- and the accents are all dark gray or black. I’d think this bathroom was made just for my teenage angst, but men’s products are pushed to the side for a batch of new girly smelling toiletries for me.

“I have to share a bathroom with Stanton,” I grumble in shock, scrunching up my face in
distaste and confusion. Grant’s sharp bark of a laugh startles me.  

“Oh, Faith,” Grant chuckles, “I needed a good laugh.”
He reaches over and rubs soothing circles against my back to loosen me up. My eyelids flutter shut and goosebumps break out on my skin. It feels comforting and good, so it pisses me off. Plus, Grant is making fun of me. I just know he is.

“Ha-ha! I’m a laugh a minute,” I deadpan, angrily stalking over to the closet to find my pajamas. I pull out a pair of navy strips and yellow flowers
printed pajama pants and a blue tank top. I ignore Grant as I march back to the bathroom. I give myself a pat on the back, because ignoring the twenty-five-year-old Adonis in the room is a feat.

“Ah, don’t be so sensitive,” Grant soberly says, but there is still amusement in his voice. “You’re sharing with the baby brother. Stanton has a suite and Bianca has a little girl bathroom. She’s a tiny little thing and can barely reach the sink. Stanton didn’t think you’d want to deal with the s
tep stools all over the place… and the toys in the bathtub… and all the pink.” Grant eyes me, remembering when I was obsessed with pink- it was only seven months ago. Back when I didn’t have any tattoos, piercing, black hair, or a horrid attitude. Alright, I’ve always had the attitude.

“I’m sharing the bathroom with a guy my age.” My eyes get huge. “Um… I’m pretty sure that’s a shitty idea
… for so many reasons,” I mumble underneath my breath. Judging by how handsome Stanton is baby boy is going to be drop dead gorgeous. What a disaster.

I slip into the bathroom and start stripping out of the clothes Wil lent me. I feel bad tak
ing them off. His scent lingers on the fabric and it was comforting. It makes me miss him even though I just left him less than an hour ago. Fourteen months is a long time without seeing cold and calculating Wil. But if I see him, Granddaddy pimp and Gwen the Whore will be close by.

“Caleb splits his time between
here, Military school, and his parents’ house. He’ll be here after he graduates until July when he goes to boot camp.” Grant conversationally says from the other side of the door while I yank on my pajamas. “You’ll only have to share the bathroom for a few weeks.”

“What branch? Isn’t that kinda like a cop? I’m mean, he must be very ethical,” I say to Grant as I walk out of the bathroom and pad towards the bed. I ignore the fact that Grant’s shirt is unbuttoned, showing off his white undershirt.
He’s not as slight as he appears- I shouldn’t be checking him out. I feel guilty for it. “Isn’t that a conflict of interests being that his big bro is a mafia kingpin?”

“Haha, Faith,” Grant mock-laughs. “Marines… and Caleb’s going into the military because it was the only thing that kept him from gangbanging. He’s obsessed with guns. Caleb is a violent little fuck. It was obvious when he wo
uldn’t play soccer. He spent the entire time beating the hell out of the other team... and his teammates.”

“I guess Caleb
and I will get along,” I tease, fluttering my eyelashes at Grant. I crawl between the lavender sheet and tuck the blankets under my chin.

“Caleb was five, Faith,” Grant sighs in disappointment- over Caleb or me, I don’t kno
w. “Cortez was his favorite victim. They don’t exactly get along. He went to elementary and middle school with Ezra and Cortez. Then Caleb suffered through one day at Hillbrook before Stanton shipped him off to Military school.” Grant flashes me a shit-eating-grin. “In other words, you two will get along famously!”

Grant crawls into the bed with me like it isn’t
strange for him to sleep with a jailbait minor. But I know he doesn’t see me in a sexual way… at all. He looks at me like I’m still a kid. And after he had to bear witness to my ultimate shame and humiliation in Whittenhower Estates study, I’m sure that’s all Grant sees when he looks at me. I will forever see Grant wiping Ezra and me off of his hands with a hanky- diligently twisting his fingers in the fabric, trying to get our sexual germs off his fingertips.

With a firm yank, I’m sitting up with Grant’s hands rubbing my back.
I wince and moan because the bruised spots hurt like a sonofabitch but my muscles are singing Hallelujah for the tension-relieving attention. 

“You look like hell, you feel like hell,
and I bet you think you’re in Hell,” Grant murmurs, hands squeezing my shoulders. “How to say this… You’re going to think I’m an asshole, so I guess I’ll just spit it out. Or we could talk about your dad. It might hurt or it might help,” he says hopefully.

“I’d rather eat broken glass,” I try for flippant, but it comes out as a pathetic whine. “Tell me anything. I can’t think about Dad
dy right now. It hurts too much,” I whimper, pretending it’s from a sore spot Grant’s fingers hit, not from how lost and alone I feel.

Grant pulls me so that my ass is planted on the mattress between his knees. He diligently attacks my back and neck. The movements rock me back and forth until a small giggle escapes. I know Grant wanted me in front of him, facing away, because he didn’t want me staring at the side of his face while his emotions bleed. I know the feeling- all you want to do is hide under the blankies like you’re a little kid.

“I had two best friends growing up and they are a year or more younger than me,” Grant begins, but I cut him off.